'Tis Christmas and I am ill
Oh what a surprise!
At least I didn't catch my boss' lurgy! He decided to make an appearance on our last day (22nd) in the office, (for what I suspect is the slightly sinister reason of passing along his affliction to everybody in the office) on the one day that I arrived very late (about 45 minutes late).
I finished what little work I had left to do and avoided getting dragged into too many co-worker conversations, not because I was feeling grinch-like but because I wanted to leave the officer with the clear conscience of the man who has finished all his work.
We started with drinks in the office and, in trying to undertake the epic, Homeric journey to open one fucking bottle of shitty Tempranillo, realised that the office manager had hidden all the fucking bottle openers, probably for reasons of health and safety. Maybe the OM feared that somebody could put out an eye with a corkscrew, or that I would stab myself in the balls with some cackhanded attempt at opening a bottle. Absolute fucking bullshit... which was exactly what I told everybody in the office within earshot.
So, no Tempranillo for me or anybody else!
Instead I drank cheap champagne, listened to my colleagues Xmas tune selections and got ready to go to our local.
Once in the local I decided that it was going to be a long day of drinking and to ease myself into drunkeness, rather than plunge fuckleheadedly into it, I would drink a pint or shot followed by a pint of water. That soon got knocked on the head as the booze flowed more freely and the conversation became increasingly profanity strewn.
I began flirting with a cute Muslim girl from the office, despite the fact that I knew it would go nowhere, and saying a variety of increasingly stupid and irrelevant things.
I became increasingly stupid with each pint and chaser. The last thing I remember proclaiming was that I could lift three female co-workers at once for a long time and challenged the barman. He said three was unmanageable and lifted two of them (cute Muslim girl and her friend) for about thirty seconds. I followed suit and lifted them for about forty five seconds. Before losing all sense of where I was, I realised that drink makes me a complete and utter twat and, for some reason, more attractive to the opposite sex (however, now, after the fact, I realise that the last part of this realisation is probably just in my head).
Completely drunk, I moved on to meet some friends in central Cunt London.
However, I fell asleep on the tube and woke up miles from my required destination. I realised that home was closer, so I decided that that was where I was going.
I then watched a depressing but brilliant Kieslowski film, A Short Film About Killing, and why a drunken man would decide to watch a film like this God (or random chance) only knows. I then ate a cheap Curry and went to bed.
'Twas then on to the girlfriend's parents in a lovely rural setting. Lots of turkey and stuffing. Christmas with her family nice, but slightly overwhelming due to the fact that I have to curb my natural propensity to use the words fuck and cunt. So I didn't say much!
Today I have driven myself and my lingering cold up the cunt A1, through several stinking traffic jams of miserable skullfuckery, the roads awash with wretched fuckers as miserable and desperate as I, to my parents' home in dreary, rainy Northern England. It's great to see my mum again, and my dad will return from his adventures in the pertrochemical trade sometime tomorrow.
It will be several days of heavy northern drinking at cheap northern prices. Fan-fucking-tastic.
At least I didn't catch my boss' lurgy! He decided to make an appearance on our last day (22nd) in the office, (for what I suspect is the slightly sinister reason of passing along his affliction to everybody in the office) on the one day that I arrived very late (about 45 minutes late).
I finished what little work I had left to do and avoided getting dragged into too many co-worker conversations, not because I was feeling grinch-like but because I wanted to leave the officer with the clear conscience of the man who has finished all his work.
We started with drinks in the office and, in trying to undertake the epic, Homeric journey to open one fucking bottle of shitty Tempranillo, realised that the office manager had hidden all the fucking bottle openers, probably for reasons of health and safety. Maybe the OM feared that somebody could put out an eye with a corkscrew, or that I would stab myself in the balls with some cackhanded attempt at opening a bottle. Absolute fucking bullshit... which was exactly what I told everybody in the office within earshot.
So, no Tempranillo for me or anybody else!
Instead I drank cheap champagne, listened to my colleagues Xmas tune selections and got ready to go to our local.
Once in the local I decided that it was going to be a long day of drinking and to ease myself into drunkeness, rather than plunge fuckleheadedly into it, I would drink a pint or shot followed by a pint of water. That soon got knocked on the head as the booze flowed more freely and the conversation became increasingly profanity strewn.
I began flirting with a cute Muslim girl from the office, despite the fact that I knew it would go nowhere, and saying a variety of increasingly stupid and irrelevant things.
I became increasingly stupid with each pint and chaser. The last thing I remember proclaiming was that I could lift three female co-workers at once for a long time and challenged the barman. He said three was unmanageable and lifted two of them (cute Muslim girl and her friend) for about thirty seconds. I followed suit and lifted them for about forty five seconds. Before losing all sense of where I was, I realised that drink makes me a complete and utter twat and, for some reason, more attractive to the opposite sex (however, now, after the fact, I realise that the last part of this realisation is probably just in my head).
Completely drunk, I moved on to meet some friends in central Cunt London.
However, I fell asleep on the tube and woke up miles from my required destination. I realised that home was closer, so I decided that that was where I was going.
I then watched a depressing but brilliant Kieslowski film, A Short Film About Killing, and why a drunken man would decide to watch a film like this God (or random chance) only knows. I then ate a cheap Curry and went to bed.
'Twas then on to the girlfriend's parents in a lovely rural setting. Lots of turkey and stuffing. Christmas with her family nice, but slightly overwhelming due to the fact that I have to curb my natural propensity to use the words fuck and cunt. So I didn't say much!
Today I have driven myself and my lingering cold up the cunt A1, through several stinking traffic jams of miserable skullfuckery, the roads awash with wretched fuckers as miserable and desperate as I, to my parents' home in dreary, rainy Northern England. It's great to see my mum again, and my dad will return from his adventures in the pertrochemical trade sometime tomorrow.
It will be several days of heavy northern drinking at cheap northern prices. Fan-fucking-tastic.
posted by The Nothing Man at 25.12.06
1 Comments:
Sounds amazing, you cunt.
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